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Tag: philadelphia

Grotesque: Rape/Murder/Facebook

A blog post — a girl was raped and murdered in Northern Liberties. Oh. And they’ve pieced it all together (maybe not raped — not released — but her body was naked when they found it) (the blogger, when they found out who it was sort of knew her – and posted her full name —

And Facebook — with its unfettered privacy policies — there she is — and you can’t see her personal pictures, but you can see about 62 profile pictures with the comments of her friends and loved ones —

and she was certainly interesting looking and pretty and living in Philadelphia, this same city I’m living in, and she was certainly well-loved, and she was so-so-very-young and her facebook page was the living breathing dynamic record of everything she was (even a baby picture) —

Gone. All of that is gone. Her story is over and her existence, extinguished. All past.

Terrible thing — took everything she had and everything she was ever going to have —

In another world, she lives on — but not this one, and this one is the only one that matters.

What exists in the heart of men that allows such villainy? What evil? Not circumstances — not sickness — but willful blindness, and the grunting lizardbrain, and not caring, and not knowing up from down and down from up — and being kicked twenty seven times and not seeing anything wrong in kicking — a kinder gentler machine gun land —

And yes — even there — moral indignation and outrage turns quickly to politics, looking for excuses — but whoever did this made a CHOICE. And dumb and poor and stupid as that guy is, he made a CHOICE. He had a mother — and he had his own self — and it was not to him to TAKE.

He has placed himself outside the community of man. What the community does with him and to him and to others who might yet be him — that is something else. But he is guilty, and, regardless of our thoughts of mercy, our sense of justice, which is merely a second-order higher-level consideration of others, is outraged, and the molerats inside us howl with anger.



Dirty young hipster sleeping on the Philadelphia subway, one eye half-open, headphones falling down around his head, greasy hair sticking out from under his hat. Not a dime in his pocket. Once he was a student — now he works two part-time jobs — printing flyers is one of them, the one he sort of likes. He’s lonely — hooked up with a girl three weeks ago but she never called him back — probably because he’s poor.

His Dad died of cancer three years ago. His mother is struggling in a town upstate.  He isn’t religious — doessn’t go for that sort of thing — distrusts that sort of thing.

He does drugs with people he calls his friends — he’s up late — that’s why he’s sleeping on the subway.

Joe Lawyer. No stories there.

The Widowed Mother in a town upstate, receptionist at a print store — has watched the economy blow through and wipe out the companies that used to use them — staff is dwindling — young people don’t stay, head down to Philadelphia, but its hard to get jobs down there as well. She feels herself getting sick, getting creaky, there’s medical bills to pay off, the mortgage, her younger daughter’s college tuition — getting harder and harder — there’s a man who comes into the store every now and again — she doesn’t think she’s beautiful, she’s old and fat, and she doesns’t know this man from Adam and part of her is sort of happy to be done with it — but she’s very lonely without her children, who never want to talk to her — and her situation is precarious — she sort of wishes she’ll be asked out —